


Those Secrets We Keep

by RikkuShinra



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Crack Relationships, Gen, Monica is Boss, No OC apperance, Not Beta Read, Older Woman/Younger Man, Prisoner of War, dad cor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RikkuShinra/pseuds/RikkuShinra
Summary: Cor is faced with something from his past that he tried to ignore, to pass off.





	1. Chapter 1

Hunters mill about the Prairie Outpost, dust caking their boots, pants, arms, getting into places the sun doesn’t shine; partaking in a brutal life that most of their compatriots have shied away from. It's admirable if it wasn’t because they were fugitives according to the Empire and needed to be taken down before they attacked another base. The Hunters would be an elite fighting force within the Imperial ranks.

But that wasn’t why Caligo Uldor stood afar peering through a pair of binoculars. It wasn’t for Cor Leonis who had just disappeared into an old dilapidated shed, or even the King himself following just as dust crusted as the toughest of the hunters accompanied by his Boy Band. No, it was his subordinate who drank too much last night and just had to go smart off to the Marshal.

“Got a visual Uldor?” Aranea’s voice flows like stomach acid behind him.

“No, but His Majesty and his buddies just entered that shack. It’s most likely where he is being detained.”

Aranea stares at the back of Caligo’s head her foot itches to leave a print. How he lost the kid from a locked down base just blows her mind. “We should just leave him, let him annoy someone else for a minute.” Caligo shifts, eyeing Aranea from head to toe then back up repeatedly. “It would do him some good. What can they hold against Loqi? Being a nuisance isn’t a felony, just aggravating.”

Noctis leans backward as Cor roughly pulls a black sack off the detainee. He’s not stunned to see Loqi bound to an uncomfortable chair, merely that he is seated before him looking like Marlboro crap. “Well, if it isn’t Cor The Immortal…” the man grunts and twists his head to the side visibly gagging. “Allow me, gah, a moment.” Prompto brings his fist to his mouth stepping out as the General stops dry vomiting. It's suddenly very humid in the shed. Monica smiles at him giving him a bottle of icy water. She carries a few others tucked under her arm along with a drying rag.

They continue in silence listening to Cor’s shouts. “How is he?”

“I think it’s not really effective. Yelling at a prisoner is not going to get answers, but I’m not Cor. Whatever reason brought Loqi here I’m sure Cor is the guy to handle it.” Monica’s forehead scrunches, brows coming closely in a stern way, forcing Prompto to accept the bottles of water and a stiff rag. “Umm,” she pulls the door to the shed open, causing to fly back against the decrepit frame. A shower of dust falls inside turn royal black to grey and blond a disgusting dusty brown as Monica storms in with all semblance of a pissed Queen. 

Gladio back peddles, palms lifted as he has seen Monica on the warpath more than once, watching many aftermaths. One day he wants babies, and he’s sure Ignis is the same as he drags Noctis out of her path. It’s not them she’s eyeing up like a Coeurl to a recent kill, it's Cor who has left the young man secured to the chair in an impossibly bearable heat in some dank shack that hums with flies and other pests. “Cor, untie him.”

“Monica,” her eyes tightened, “He is a high-ranking Imperial General. He has crimes against the crown.”

At this, she snorts nudging Cor to the side as she strides around to the back of the chair. Loqi winces tilting his head up, pitifully attempting to watch her. “Wow,” it's not his regular arrogance, just whispered loud enough that Prompto catches he did something but not certain what it was. The next words slip out clear as Galdin Quay, “you're stunning.” Monica smiles, jerking a dagger through the thick ropes allowing Loqi to rise and waver to the side finding Cor to be perfect support, and the excellent place to empty his gut of the various liquors that haven’t digested properly on the Immortal’s boots.

“I win this round Leonis,” Loqi pats the older man’s face tenderly, then does so a second time, on the third Cor is willing his katana into existence. For Loqi’s sake, Monica sweeps in nudging the young Nif towards the exit, gripping him on the shoulders so he doesn’t go after Noctis or his guards, even though Monica doubt’s he even notices the others only her and Cor. It would not due to execute an adversary without a hearing. They are civilized after all. “Miss Elshett.”

“General, do yourself a favor and shut up. Don’t talk till I tell you too.”

Loqi hums giddy and lighthearted, “Yes ma’am.” Left behind in the shed, the King and his entourage turn their attention to Cor, Loqi more than delighted to follow Monica about like some lost hound.

Cor’s normal stone-faced facade dissipates to exhaustion, forced aside by a weighty exhale. “Monica has him dealt with.” It’s practically a reprieve, Cor's body becoming straighter as they leave the shed, for Cor to not have to handle Loqi, “There’s something you need to see in the Tomb. So let’s head out.”

 

Noctis and the others have left hours ago, the night is calm with a light breeze blowing into the outpost, cooling the group of hunters down, some fresh from showers, other grouped around fires heaping plates in their hands. In one tent, open for all to see with guards on either side, Loqi sleeps on a cot, ankle chained to a foot bar.

Cor watches, although he is not sure if he’s waiting for Loqi to escape or just curious as to the General, who has rolled over burying his face into the pillow. “Imagine if he knew.” Cor jerks, head whipping so fast his neck hurts, he nearly drops his beer as gray meets blue. “What?”

“Don’t play stupid Cor. That may work on someone else, but” she pulls out the chair crossed from her superior only to plop into it. She’s one of the guys after all, “I’m not blind. She must have been impressive if” Monica gestures towards the tent and its occupant. “So, what was she like?” 


	2. Chapter 2

The desire to talk about his past was never something Cor wanted to feel - even now when the one crazy thing he had managed in his youth, even more so than facing Gilgamesh in a chance to demonstrate he was stronger, would be a more competent Shield than Clarus, lays chained to a cot fast asleep like there aren’t things to fret about or things that go thump in the night- is none existent. Monica doesn’t need to learn about his torrid past, the affair with an elegant blue blood from some former principality of Gralea, so deep to the north that events just happen. People desire to keep warm, don’t they?

“You need not tell me now, but I would appreciate to hear it when you're ready.” Monica lifts her own drink to her lips, some shelf label that made it outside Insomnia despite the levies and taxes. She has a deep swig, it's been one of those days with all the earthquakes that have been shaking the Duscae plains and handling a rebellious enemy general who had managed while shitfaced to infiltrate the Outpost raising no alarms.

Yet, Cor is in his own world swirling the piss colored liquid around in the bottle. Most of its backwash now, the last remnants left for those that could not join for a drink. “Her name is Diana.” However, Monica does deserve to know, shes integral to the mission and Cor can't let his past hinder his future nor can he ignore that he has a child that's already grown up.

Monica side eyes the Marshall, suddenly twists to watch him, allowing him the knowledge she is offering him her all. “She’s still alive?”

“Last I investigated, she lives in Laguna Del Sol, one borough in the north of Accordio. She owns a cat, it's eighteen, named Swanky” Cor smiles, one so scarce that Monica has to check to make certain it’s real, she blinks in rapid succession, it is true and charming. For the first time, Monica is looking at a man who is the precise blend of fortitude and loyalty allow his barrier to soften. Cor twist the beer bottle in his hand, “I don’t think she named it.” His eyes snap up to Loqi in the distance, he rolls back over repeatedly, arms over his face to block out the floodlights. Cor hums for a time becoming lost in his remembrances, the mounds of documents he would wheedle through to locate his prize—a slim manila folder taped with red ‘Restricted’ tape. 

 “Every Thursday at noon she heads to the market, where she always gets a plate of paella de mariscos to sit and eat, another to take home and a Tenebrean Barley beer. Oracle’s choice was always her favorite.”

Monica nods, a few of the hunters and indeed fewer Glaives linger behind her, daydream of this obscure woman from Niflheim who owns a cat and an affinity for Altissian street food. Cor finally looks up just as Monica asks what she looks like. This was just a tale for Monica, not fifty other bodies that need not hear his business. “I think that’s enough. Back to work!” Cor barks, standing from his chair.

“Wait,” Monica stands so quick her chair tilts backward. Cor doesn’t slow at her pleading, his steps picking up as he proceeds to stride away into the blackness beyond. The Hunters disperse, finding something to do on an oddly calm night, from his cot Loqi sighs slipping his arm to his chest.

“I consistently heard tales about Cor Leonis, the Immortal Lucian, growing up. My dad despised him for making off with some kid from a facility he had been in command of, how if anybody would be the undoing of the Empire, it would be him.” Loqi turns just his head peering at Monica. “My mom would always grin, off in some alternative life when Cor was mentioned.”

Loqi frowns at her, strumming his hand on his chest. He craves to say something else, include more to his own narrative. Monica hopes he will address his shock he has just found out Cor is his biological father, the sperm donor in the slightest. Instead, he just rolls to face her totally. “This cot is exceedingly uncomfortable.”

“You could bed down on the ground.”

“Hmm, you know I think it's better than the beds in the Leville.” He rolls over again turning his back to her. Twice in this night, she has been effectively shut out. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, old man.”

“What?”

“Are we there yet?

“No, now shut up.”

Cor presses forward, following behind Loqi. The sun is just now peaking over the horizon, the first rays illuminating the tip tops of the Keycatrich ridge. Behind them follows a squad of Hunter’s composed of the few Crownsgaurd that made it out that fateful day. Monica insisted on coming along, fearing Cor may do something or Loqi will take his threats and make them real, she carries a large wicker basket in her arms no doubt filled with breakfast cakes, boiled eggs and steaming slices of meat wrapped in foil.

The blond stops as they enter what used to be a bustling town some thirty odd years ago. There is a Coeurl that haunts this place, vicious when it feels threatened. For now, it just peaks one eye open, then the other. It yawns, stretching out its massive paws, head resting back on its forearms. For now, it sees them as nothing more than the tiny deer that inhabit the whole of Keycatrich, something it has grown used to in the recent months and years. It yawns again keeping focus trained on the group as they continue to pass by. Through the wasteland of war, a relic of Imperial devastation, they come to the side of the bowl where a series of ladders have been placed.

Since the start of this trip, this is the first time Cor has taken the lead instead of directing Loqi along. “Don’t get any bright idea’s kid. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your back.” He holds his hand out, motioning when Loqi just stares at them. Offering his hands, Loqi holds back his relief as the cuffs drop away and Cor takes them and puts them in his pocket.

Monica smiles, to her, it’s a sign of trust. But Loqi’s mind races. Caligo has told him what they do to Prisoners, how the Prince and his Advisor had landed him in the hospital for weeks. Loqi’s personally seen the physical struggles, the fact Caligo still sports a brace, limping about Formouth Garrison like he has a large ape-sized chip on his shoulder. He has every right too; they took his promotion for Major due to the defect the High Commander and Chancellor saw. Caligo could have caught those Lucian brats, he had the soldiers at his disposal.

Not that Loqi has done well against them either, he failed in Lestallum, he failed at the blockade. He hasn’t tried escaping his only reason being that he doesn’t want to end up like his Commander – broken in body, sadistic and vile in mind. He’s no doubt failed there as well and if he makes it out of this alive, he knows Caligo will punish him for not trying to take them out.

The only thing that has saved his rank through all his failures has been the fact he had managed to secure the Crystal and safely get it out of the Crown City, something the Chancellor has rewarded him handsomely for. “Tummelt, if you're having some sort of crisis down there hurry it up.” Cor’s shouting from the top of the cliff. With a deep inhalation, Loqi takes a step forward, then stops grabbing the basket from Monica.

“I got it.” At least if he dies today, one person will remember him beyond the annoying kid whose nationalism is grating, or some terroristic general who only envisions total Imperial dominance. Monica watches for a moment as Loqi climbs up the first ladder, then starts on the second. No one ever treats her like anything more than a Crownsgaurd. Lucians don’t see her as a woman, she’s one of them, the top inner Sanctum of Clarus Amicitia’s prestigious guard. It's refreshing.

At the top they don’t have to walk far, there are trucks waiting in the distance, a welcome to the dry heat. As they jostle over the terrain, dust clouds forming behind the two-vehicle parade, Monica wonders what Cor has in mind, one of the first times he hasn’t divulged even the slightest hint of his plan. It seems though that he has at least planned it out. In the rearview mirror, she watches Loqi look out the window past the guards on either side, fine lines ruffling his forehead and the corners of his mouth, in dualism he looks both older and younger like the weight of the last few months has just fallen on a child’s shoulders. It has, not just for him but the Prince, for those boys so loyal to their King that they’ve been forced to grow up to fast. Ignis was already on the track, as was Gladiolus, but Noctis and Prompto are still just children who like to play video games.

The words tumble out before Monica can stop herself, “Do you play King’s Knight?”

Cor glances to her, then the center mirror then back to the horse trail they follow. “I don’t know what that is.”

Monica hums low, then pulls out her phone browsing through apps fingers skimming over the image of her cat. She turns in her seat leaning into the center to hold the phone out. “Here try it.” She waves the phone a few times towards him, he tightens his grip on her basket. “Cor stop.”

“Why?” She gives him one of those looks, that warn to not question a woman’s words. Cor sighs but complies. Somedays it’s not like he is the most senior official in the remnants of an order as ancient as the Caelum dynasty. At least it’s a quick stop, Monica switching seats with one of the Hunters so she can show and teach the General how to play this game. By the time they get to their destination Loqi has extensive knowledge of something. He isn’t quite sure what Monica is talking about, like what’s a gatcha? Whatever it is, he knows she enjoys the slight reprieve this device gives her.

***

Despite the shortening days, its still bright out when they pack up. Loqi sitting far from the group, a blade of beach grass twisting and breaking in his fingers. They had spent the entire day fishing along an old pier, Monica enjoying a day off in silence her face buried in a book. Beside him the sand shifts, Cor’s boots kicking a bit of dirt in his direction.

“Its time to head back.”

Loqi tilts his head up squinting at the older man. So many who, what’s, whys and how rise like the tide, then flow back into his own depths. He only has two questions that he wants to know. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Cor grunts, “what?”

“Commander Uldor,” Cor lowers himself down, the unintended closeness quieting the explanation.

“Caligo Uldor killed an unarmed old man in cold blood, a man protecting children.”

“Lady Amicitia,” Loqi frowns, he had been the one to lead the investigation under Ravus’ orders, subsequently being placed under Uldor's command as his adjunct commander. It was a mess to deal with and even harder to cover up for the Empire’s sake. He remembers the girl and the boy she hid behind her when he arrived. The challenge she threw in his face, the proud statement of her name.

“You’ve done some shitty things, held a woman against her will, you’ve tried to kill His Majesty how many times? We cannot deny that” Cor pulls his leg up, leaning forward to look Loqi in the face, “your hearts not in war. I won’t say your not a soldier, but this” Cor pokes Loqi’s chest, then his head “and this are in two different paths and once they meet, you’ll finally get what you want.”

“I already threw up on your boots.”

“And you’ll be cleaning them.” The pair sit in silence watching the rods being packed away, the tents that had managed to withstand the dark nights disappear into the beds. The moment is short lived between them and Cor moves to stand.

“Marshall,” the word vibrates along the fine hairs of Cor’s inner ear, and for a moment a pain of longing runs through the Immortal. He can nearly hear the lost recordings of a child, this boy now man’s voice, stating his title. From all those pictures, all the words typed in twelve-point font, the recording of Loqi’s first visit to an aquarium in Altissia was the most treasured artifacts of a life he missed out on. A gift from the boy’s mother.

Cor looks down at him, Loqi looking less his age; a vision of childhood in Cor’s mind, “did you raise that child you took from the facility? Did you start a family?”

The question stings, but it's only right he tells the truth. “Yes, and no.” He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain that the boy is his son, but only now years later. To say he had any help in shaping that boy in childhood is false, he’s had a greater hand in Loqi’s life with just as much attendance. “Someday, I’ll introduce you.”

Loqi shakes his head as he stands, “I don’t think I’d want that.” Loqi excuses himself heading down the slope towards Monica. She smiles at him then directs him towards a folding table that needs to be packed away. Already he can hear Monica, although she says nothing only turns to give a thumbs up. Maybe she hopes to change the tide of war, to get Loqi on their side. For that to happen would take a miracle as there are too many hurdles to jump and rivers to cross for that to become a reality.


	4. Chapter 4

“Just where is Loqi Tummelt?” Ravus narrowed his eyes, glaring down at Caligo, this was close to the last straw the break this Shoopuffs’ back and this could go two ways. Caligo had somehow covered Loqi’s mysterious disappearance and murdered the boy, which ranked high on what Caligo most likely had done since he seemed to hate everyone, Caligo had openly murdered Loqi and hid the body, or the most glaringly obvious thing Caligo murdered Loqi. All things pointed to the older General ridding himself of Ravus’ little spy in the same manner -murder. Which, shrugging internally, Ravus could understand. Loqi was a bit high strung if that’s what you called it, but he was Ravus’ _special turnip._

“He is in the Duscae Prairie being held by the Hunters for War Crimes, specifically with Cor Leonis.” Ravus shifted, sitting up straighter, lifting his chin.

“How? Loqi was to only engage in battle if threatened.”

“A friendly game of poker turned bad. We had some drinks and he ran off.”

There went the straw and the Shoopuffs back. “What the fuck where you thinking Ulldor? For one, he is underage and two, he is twenty. He can barely tie his shoes without someone holding his hand.” Ravus jerks, eyes roaming over the General's face, the discolorization around one eye. 

Caligo frowned, Loqi wasn’t invalid, “sir, aren’t you being rather harsh? General Tummelt is an exemplary soldier.” Ravus winced. “He may be young and inexperienced but outside of battle; his tactics are solid, and the populace finds him…attractive from what I hear.” The shoopuff, broken of body and now spirit dies, “I’m sure he will be fine.”

“You’re a fucking moron.” Ravus inhaled as he stepped around his desk marching to the door with a trail of fire behind him. For a moment he lingered, then turned to march back to Caligo. “You are lucky that Commodore Highwind informed me the moment General Tummelt went missing, and for some damned reason you have the Chancellor’s favor otherwise I’d knock your rank so hard your grandchildren will feel it, you incompetent buffoon.”

In the heated whirlwind of Ravus’ departure, Caligo stares at the back of a white oak door. “Well, what got up his ass. He should thank me, Loqi lost many battles against the Lucian King.”

Aranea, the only officer that wasn’t a POW or breathing his office air, trailed behind Ravus like the loyal dog she pretended to be. “Loqi is important to our operations.”

“Of course, how else are you going to know what Caligo is doing at all times.”

“Exactly. I don’t need another issue to cover up because Caligo can’t keep his temper in check. He is right, Loqi is…”

Aranea tunes Ravus out, it’s no wonder Loqi has an ego three times his own size, ‘this is the part of the story where the Forgotten Prince goes to save his General from the clutches of his captors.’ Falling back, Aranea watches Ravus a smile spreading crossed her lips. “At least he’s determined.”

* * *

Loqi hisses, a hand hovering over his eyes as he attempts to block the sun out. In the distance dark clouds gather a promise of rain and sticky humidity. He wasn’t born for this; the heat is killing him, and he’s stuck in the long sleeves that he typically wears under his armor.

“Get off the gate.” The guard glares, poking between the links with the business end of the rifle. Loqi grunts, more of a low growl, but stays in the same spot, it’s the only place with lingering shade. “Don’t think I won’t, it would be a pleasure to off one of you nasty fuckers.” In the closeness between prisoner and guard, Loqi catches the sound of the bolt sliding back and a round coming into the chamber, the man smells of too many days sans bathing. Turning his head, Loqi glares. The fine lines that mar the corners of his eyes deepen as the man chuckles nudging his face with the loaded gun. “Well, you’re a cute one. Man or not we could have some fun.” The muzzle moves to his lips, pushing against them. “A lot better looking than the others.”

Loqi huffs looking the guard over with a raised brow, “Yeah we could, couldn’t we?” The man blinks once, then twice his mind tripping over itself to decipher the words. By the time he realizes what’s happening, the chain links beside him rattle, Loqi climbing out of the pen his jacket tossed over the constantia wire to minimize any injuries not caused by the epic ass kicking he’s about to give this creep. “Do you talk that way to everyone you guard? Or everyone in general?” The man stutters bringing his rifle up depressing the trigger. The rata-tat-tat of semi-automatic fire doesn’t fill his ears, only the sound of his nose breaking and Loqi kneeling on his chest pulling low pained groans from him, his pathetic pleas for mercy fill the area around them drawing a crowd. Maybe he should have checked the safety.

The crowd that forms, a testament to who this man has either forced or attempted to force himself on, separates into ranks.The men linger back while the few women that compile the Hunters make a circle that holds the scraps of the Crownsgaurd at bay, other than Monica, who pushes through but the ranks quickly close holding Cor back.

The wind picks up, pushing dust over the outpost, the heavy scent of rain and ozone along with it. A rumble of thunder promises rain. The man whimpers, shaking under Loqi’s stare. People like this, Loqi sneers, is the reason his infantry is compiled completely of MTs. They aren’t mindless, he knows this, works with thousands daily and he has a few favorites, they have distinct personalities when not in the field. But none insinuate their darkest desires, unbelievably they don’t have the mindless chanting of a hive complex to kill humans. One even likes baking. “You’re not worth the air you breathe.” Loqi stands, rifle in hand and begins disassembling it with the efficiency of a honed sniper. As he drops the pieces around the man, Loqi takes a moment to really look at him.

Caligo. That’s who this man reminds him of, the way he preyed on the defenseless, and from the group of women with varying looks of satisfaction, even Monica looks relieved – prisoners aren’t his only choice. Disgust twist inside, there is no difference between his superior and this _thing_. As the strap hits the ground, draping over the man's face, Loqi backs away glancing at the collection of Hunters that call the Prairie outpost home. The women are grinning and converging on him.

“Excuse me,” he steps forward pushing through the crowd, it’s the only way out. Once he’s free Loqi is running as fast as he can, the grey rains obscuring their view. He hides with the spiders in the old shack, rain pelting the tin roof a reprieve in drowning out the sounds and his inner voice, a voice that questions everything he has done, what he will do.

For the first time in days he sleeps, body exhausted and mind wondering back to that night that put him into this situation. Of a hand on his hip encouraging him to drink a little more, the burn of the alcohol as it slides down and a game of poker between two military men that escalates quickly and unprofessionally for their ranks. Of one whose eyes glint with a maliciousness not recognized till now. Then blood, so much blood but it's not his and that doesn't matter because he's running again from hands that roam quickly and grab despite a solid 'No'. 


	5. Chapter 5

The humidity in Duscae is nothing compared to the heat in Lestallium, only that Lestallium is dry, due to the remnants of the meteor, where Duscae despite its sparse foliage, is sticky and leaves one feeling gross. Alstor is really the worst, but there is no differentiation between humidity and heat when Imperial uniforms allow for everyone to be horribly uncomfortable all the time. Wearing all black, long sleeves and turtle necks under heavy armor wasn't nearly as bad as wearing black and thick leather outside due to Imperial protocol. Now with the  rains having passed an hour ago, the shelter of the old shack was becoming unbearable. Despite being in the early morning hours, the tin roof was doing nothing to deter the collection of heat. 

Loqi groans, glaring at the jacket that hangs from a nail. He isnt planning to hide out in the shack, but truth be told murder is far below him. From the distance he is at-across from his jacket near the far back corner- he can still make out where his superiors blood had been caked on just thirty-six hours ago. The faint ring of yellow turning the white leather a disgusting creamy banana color. 

His introspection dissolves as the door creaks open, Cor standing between him and the camp. 

"We have negotiations to attend." In the dim light, the last vestiges of twilight seeping away with the first rays of dawn, Cor's face twist into a grim frown, eyeing Loqi for any reaction. What he gets is not what he would expect from the young noble. 

"I" Loqi looks away running a hand through his matting hair. He finds himself missing the comforts he has enjoyed only for the reasons that his hand has gotten stuck in his hair, its matted. Hes dusty, his clothes are caked and cracking with mud, he feels gross. Beyond that, he weights his options. His country, or himself, the High Commander or the Lucian Marshall. 

The last part isn't fair, Ravus has always treated him equally, where Cor has never treated him with anything more than nonchalance. Duty wins out, he grabs his jacket but doesn't put it on. He already looks a hot mess, no use being even more uncomfortable. "I wonder who it will be."

Cor's arm lifts, often drops to his side. "I spoke with a Commodore Highwind."

A scrunched nose and a childish shake of his head, Loqi let's out an undignified snort. "Just her? I may as well rot in the Disc for all she cares."

"She seems to be rather nice, the others have no issue with her." As they stroll through the camp, its noticeably barren. The hot smell of dust and not enough showering bombards them as they cross the dirt road to the command center. Monica smiles, tight lipped with the corners turned down. Behind her along the wall stands Noctis, his entourage of royal advisors spread out in the small area looking more like a band posing for their first album cover than the last known royal and highest of Lucian nobility they where.

"Well, long time no see nutter butter."  Under the layers of dirt and grim, Loqi flushes, eyes narrowing at the silver haired woman that sits across from Monica with a bottle of water in hand. "They pull you out of the crap pile or what?"

"No."

"Well, ya look like shit. It's an improvement," Gladiolus snorts, then coughs as Ignis levels him with a look reminiscent of one Loqi's mom would shoot him when he did something inappropriate. Aranea brings the bottle to her lips, then places it back down. She taps on the side for a moment, looking past Monica to the large radio amplifiers, then brings the bottle back up and drinks deep and slow. Outside the Hunters can be heard shouting under the hum of a magitek engine. 

A silence descends over the gathering, seven listening to the commotion as it dies down, Aranea studying her bottles label. It's not hard to decipher the heavy steps of the MTs, their heavy 'thud, thud, thud' that stops just outside the thin wooden walls. 

Being separated from the Hunter's and the Imperial platoon that has amassed outside only heightened tensions in the room till it forms an invisible fog. It's there, present and finally parts but thickens as the wood door flies open and snaps against the interior wall. Aranea stands at attention only to be waved off as Ravus storms in. 

"Commodore, at ease." Aranea relaxes and returns to her seat as Ravus' eyes sweep the room, calculating and cold till they stop at Loqi where his gaze freezes over. Cor shifts moving to stand between the two, its enough to draw Ravus' attention to him. "Marshal Leonis, thank you for taking the time to arrange this."

Cor nods, "it is all thanks to His Majesty."

"Of course, my General is after all your prisoner." Noctis moves forward pulling the chair out beside Monica.

"Let's begin."

Noctis isnt the best at negotiating, not that Ravus is good at the task either. By the end if the first hour both Prince's are at each other throats, Ignis is trying to appease both sides and the others are watching a brewing storm. 

"Why should we concede the Duscae region?" Ravus leans forward mirroring Noctis' own actions. 

Like two bulls they clash. Noctis wants the area free of Imperial influence while Ravus finds the idea absurd and moronic. 

"Insomnia is perfectly fine under Imperial jurisdiction." Noctis scoffs, bringing a hand to his mouth. All the doubts and worries come crashing over him at once pulling him under. The room falls silent for the first time since this farce started. Ravus draws back as Noctis slumps in his chair both defeated and at wits end. 

"Noctis," Ravus sighs, his good hand working over the worn strap of the bottom buckle of his jacket. "If you agree to release General Tummelt to my care, I can ensure that Lady Lunafreya is kept from harm. At least within my power." 

"How's that?" While Noctis turns towards Ravus, defeated and lost, the petulant gaze isn't missed. 

"Besides Commodore Highwind, General Tummelt is the only other officer I would entrust my sisters life with. How else do you think she has been evading Imperial capture for so long?" 

Cor pushes off the wall of radio transmitters, "what about Caligo Uldor?"

Ravus turns his attention to Loqi. For a moment the younger holds his gaze only to break away. It's a battle to get Loqi to focus on him, but it's enough to confirm all of Ravus' suspicions. Beside him, Aranea stands and steps to the side of the table, motioning for Loqi to come forward. Cor holds tight to Loqi's arm. "My sister is waiting patiently to get to Altissia. The safest way for her to make it there is by escort. I appeal to your higher senses, as her betrothed," Ravus looks to Cor's arm and the tight grip on the General's arm, then his face as the Marshall levels him with a glare. "And as a father, that you both will make the right choice. I will deal with General Uldor, I can ensure that he will find these actions will result in a most unpleasant discipline."


End file.
